


Into the Dark

by blasthisass



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Minor Character Death, Some Horror Themes, supernatural themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blasthisass/pseuds/blasthisass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been ten years since Kurt came across the two secrets that Blaine had striven to keep hidden. Ten years since he learned of the reason his life had collapsed in on itself when he was seven years old and came across his best friend dragging the life out of another living being through that pulsing vein in his neck. Ten years since Kurt has been chasing after Blaine, trying to write the balance of life and death and now that they've finally made it full circle to Lima, Ohio, he thinks the chance has finally come, the chance to end it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Dark

  
_And I held my tongue as she told me,  
“Son, fear is the heart of love,”  
And I never looked back._  
  
It was the first time in months that the little compass on the dashboard of Kurt’s car spun to life. He was sitting in his Impala, coffee in hand, lost in thought as he stared at the Lima Bean’s sign, illuminated brightly in the midafternoon sun. He’d meant to drive away as soon as he sat down, but there was a weariness in his bones, like sandbags of memory weighting him down.  
  
He started as soon as he registered the clicks of the compass, sitting up so quickly in his seat that he almost dislodged the precious balance of his coffee cup, steadying it at the last minute to keep the contents lodged safely within their cardboard confines. His ocean-blue eyes widened as the little compass spun, making quick, ninety-degree rotations before freezing, pointing out the front windshield of the car.  
  
Kurt stared at it, mouth dropping open in slight surprise, the life in the little metal device seeming to drain that in his blood and it was only as the little arrow began twitching slightly, as though it wished to move along with its target but didn’t think it work the effort that Kurt looked up. His eyes found him instantly and he slid down automatically in his seat, dropping his dark sunglasses onto his eyes.  
  
He looked the same as ever. Kurt had seen him enough times in the past five years that it wasn’t unexpected, but the sight of him pierced through Kurt like a lightning bolt. It was the once familiar blazer, deep blue polyester and red piping. It was the slicked-back hair, the extraneous use of gel that Kurt hadn’t seen in years. It jolted him painfully and it took all his efforts for memory not to propel him out of the car right then and there. His eyes narrowed and a soft growl escaped his lips, a harsh breath forming into a single, hatful word.  
  
“Gotcha.”  
  
Kurt dropped further in his seat, ducking his head as though reading something when the object of his attention paused in the doorway to the coffee shop, brow furrowing. His gaze, golden and intense, swept through the parking lot as his companions filed past him and, as much as it had hurt in the moment he was doing it, Kurt had never been more relieved that he’d gotten rid of his Navigator. The molten gaze passed over the black hood of the Impala and Kurt’s hand twitched, reaching across the seats. His fingers curled around the wood of a perfectly sharpened stake, his grip tight and turning his knuckles white-hot.  
  
He released it only when the boy standing in the doorway of the coffee shop concluded his sweep of the parking lot and disappeared inside.  
  
Kurt exhaled, letting go of the wooden stake, his shoulders relaxing, but his brow remained furrowed in anger, in the hatred that flowed through his veins. He couldn’t lose the upper hand, not so soon, not here. It had been ten years, but it looked like Blaine had finally made that mistake. The one that Kurt had been hoping he’d make for nearly three. The one that followed his strange little pattern.  
  
He’d come back and Kurt was finally going to finish it.  
  
It was going to end, right there, where it’d all begun.

~

  
 _“Why are you looking at me like that?” Blaine asked and Kurt blinked, jolted out of the thoughts he’d been lost in. He flushed, his cheeks stained a pretty pink when he realized that, in the midst of thinking, he’d ended up staring openly at Blaine, who looked bemused and even a little pleased at the attention.  
  
“Just thinking.”  
  
“What about?” Blaine teased, hands winding around the thin cardboard of his Lima Bean cup as he leaned forward, his eyebrows waggling suggestively above the constant, amber heat that radiated from his gaze. “Something dirty?”  
  
“Blaine!” Kurt exclaimed indignantly, cheeks flushing further. He was sure his entire face was red and he quickly occupied himself with taking a quick drink of his coffee, choking slightly when his tongue was reminded of its scalding temperature.  
  
Blaine chuckled softly, pursing his lips in amusement at Kurt. “Hey, we’ve all got urges, you know. That’s why they invented mastur—”  
  
“Oh, my God, please stop!” Kurt yelled, sliding down in his seat as the patrons of the café turned to look at him.  
  
Blaine shook his head, leaning back in his seat. “Okay, I’m sorry. We’re being serious now. What were you thinking about?”  
  
Kurt frowned, sitting up slowly and scratching at the short hairs at the back of his neck. “I was just thinking . . . I don’t know, that you look a little older than you are,” he muttered quickly, in case Blaine got insulted that Kurt was insinuating that he looked old.  
  
Blaine, on the other hand, looked pleasantly surprised. “Well. Not what I usually get.”  
  
“What do you usually get?”  
  
Blaine eyes gleamed slightly, a brief flash of something that Kurt couldn’t understand. “That I look young for my age.”_

~

  
Dalton loomed tall before him as he parked the car and stepped out, boots crunching lightly on the loose stones that had been tracked into the lot in the hills and valleys of countless car wheels. It loomed and Kurt wished he could find a better word to describe it, but there really weren’t any. He could remember it ten years ago, when he’d first stepped onto the campus, dressed as much to blend in as he could without actually purchasing a uniform for the occasion. It had stood majestic then, old and historical and foreign in an absolutely thrilling way, the kind that had shot through Kurt’s body and tingled down to his very toes in anticipation. Anticipation at the exhilarating prospect of what might be awaiting him inside. Everything had excited him, from the old clock tower above the entrance to the fading crimson of the bricks, the color of a setting sun.  
  
Now Dalton loomed above him as he walked, tranquilizer gun loaded with vervain tucked into the back waistband of his jeans. Its bricks served only as a reminder of blood spilt.  
  
He scrutinized the dormitories carefully through the dark barrier of his Wayfayers, allowing memories of secret entrances and doors that one could open at night without sounding the alarms and the countless ways one could sneak into different dorms after hours fill him up. He remembered the day he first moved in and how he couldn’t imagine using all those little secrets for more than midnight movie marathons and cuddling sessions.  
  
His boots clicked lightly on the marble floors inside the building, but the taps were lost in the bustle of teenage boys rushing to class, uniforms blending them into one moving blur. It reminded him of poetry. Of Ezra Pound and a two-line poem that he’d once spent a whole class period discussing. The ever-moving blur of Dalton boys, each indistinguishable from the next. But Kurt’s eyes found him in the crowd almost instantly.  
  
He was making his way toward the main staircase, a tall blonde boy on one side and a shorter Asian on the other and the parallel to Wes and Jeff wrenched a gasp out of Kurt. He clasped a hand over his mouth to keep the sound from travelling, ducking behind a particularly tall lacrosse player as he carefully followed Blaine, his eyes trained on the comfortable stretch of polyester jacket over his shoulders.  
  
He froze when he saw the dark-haired boy step down from the final step of the staircase, chatting casually until his shoulder was jostled by a particularly rushed student. It was that action that caused Kurt to freeze in unison with the object he was stalking, who at the moment of contact had instantly stopped talking, his face turning to follow the blazer-clad boy that rushed of quickly down the hallway, his thick brows scrunching together in slight confusion. Kurt stiffened as he watched Blaine inhale, one long, deep breath that he held in his expanded chest for what felt like ages before he let it go, eyes opening as the air left him. A hand reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out an old pocket watch, pressing the latch to pop it open as he stared at it with the most immense scrutiny, his breaths still deep. Kurt’s own eyes widened and he backtracked as quickly as he could, ducking behind a pole just before Blaine turned, his gaze sweeping up the staircase, his eyes dark and thoughtful.  
  
Kurt leaned his back against the pole, head back and eyes closed as he waited. Waited for Blaine to turn around and walk away. Waited for his heart to stop pounding and for his palms to stop sweating, like a strange Pavlovian response. He didn’t risk looking out from behind his hiding spot to see if Blaine had gone. Instead, he ducked down a different hallway, making his way toward the school’s little café and cursing his own carelessness.  
  
If it unraveled, it wouldn’t be because he’d given up the upper hand. Not this time.

~

  
 _He was caught up in the bustle of it, the river-like movement of boys down a grand staircase. Puck’s words attacked his thoughts, as much as he tried to suppress them for fear of his own frustration. For fear of realizing his own uselessness to the people that he called friends, but still his doubts lingered, seeping under his skin like poison.  
  
He couldn’t let himself get caught up in it. He had to find the Warblers. That was why he’d come, after all.  
  
He started to reach out to grab the attention of the boy in front of him but his arm was jostled away as a different boy rushed past him, head ducked down and eyes focused on a gorgeous, vintage pocket watch.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
The boy with the pocket watch paused, looking away from it with a hint of annoyance, but the expression fled from his face when he met Kurt’s gaze. He inhaled sharply, his eyes flashing with something that stirred the contents of Kurt’s stomach.  
  
“Sorry, I’m new here and I . . .”  
  
The inhaled breath was let out slowly, as though the boy that had claimed it was reluctant to let it go. He scrutinized Kurt with a curious look on his face, tongue running along his teeth before he smiled widely and held out his hand.  
  
“My name’s Blaine.”_

~

  
“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”  
  
The duo of boys sitting at a nearby table looked up when he spoke, their eyes taking in Kurt’s casual appearance and the bright smile on his face before determining that he seemed like someone at least mildly trustworthy. He was pleased by this and he pulled out an empty chair at their table, dropping down casually into it. He would have to play it by ear, have to be careful that none of this got back to Blaine before he was ready for it to.  
  
“You guys wouldn’t happen to know someone named Blaine Anderson, would you?” he asked calmly, leaning back in his seat and taking a sip from his coffee. Just like he had been trained. Loose shoulders, legs stretched out before him, one hand lifting his cup to his lips, the other cast casually over his abdomen. Non-aggressive, giving the appearance that it would take a moment to collect himself in order to try anything.  
  
One of the pair smiled happily at him, the bright whites of his teeth contrasting starkly with the beautiful ebony of his skin, like the keys of a piano. “You mean the Warbler lead? Sure we do!” he exclaimed excitedly, pausing momentarily to take in Kurt again. “How do you know him?”  
  
Kurt swallowed in his surprise, trying not to let it show on his face. He was being careless, Blaine was. Far too careless and it set Kurt’s nerves on edge. Ten years wasn’t a long time. It was enough for people to remember what had happened and yet here he was again, using the same name, assuming the same role, his friends startling reminiscent of the old group of Warblers that had drawn Kurt in. Uncharacteristically careless and Kurt forced his unease not to infiltrate into the bones of his body.  
  
Instead he smiled, taking another sip of his coffee before replying. “Cousins,” he said, letting the name roll of his name with an unmistakable, familial affection. “I’m actually trying to surprise him. Was going to sneak into his dorm and jump him outside his room after class,” he laughed. He tried to remember Finn, the way they’d fallen into their respective roles as brothers, as family. “Problem is, I’m not sure which dorm he lives in and I was hoping one of his friends would help me out.”  
  
The boy with ebony skin frowned, casting a quick glance at his companion, who looked up briefly from his texting before returning to it. Kurt scrutinized the look carefully as he waited for his reply. “He . . . doesn’t live in the dorms.”  
  
Kurt’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”  
  
The boy with the cell phone finally set it down, glancing at Kurt in curiosity. “He doesn’t live in the dorms. He lives up in the old Anderson estate in New Albany.”  
  
Kurt frowned, gazing between the two boys, trying to process the information, the _why_ of it all. He pursed his lips finally, nodding before sliding his seat out slowly and standing. “Oh, okay . . . Funny, cousin says boarding school and you automatically assume dormitories,” he laughed, running a hand casually through his hair. “Thanks, guys.”  
  
He finished off his coffee and, after a nod, eased himself between the various tables and, skirting around an older gentleman—teacher, maybe—as he left the room, making his way quickly back to his car.  
  
The two boys exchanged glances, looking toward their headmaster as he followed Kurt with his gaze, hand lingering in the pocket of his suit trousers. He looked quickly at them, tilting his head in question after Kurt and pursing his lips briefly when they nodded in the affirmative. Having received his confirmation, he swept back down the hall, pulling a phone out of his pocket and quickly dialing a number.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“It’s me.”  
  
“Make it quick, Roger, I’m running late and I don’t have time for another long lecture about how I’m endangering the lives of everyone in town.”  
  
Roger Saltzmann sighed, walking quickly past his secretary and locking himself in his office. “He’s here.”  
  
There was a pause on the other end, a silence long and stretched thin, like butter spread over too much bread. They made Roger uneasy, long stretches of silence. Like they were simply laying the groundwork for explosions.  
  
He was about to repeat himself, to clarify, when a lone name crackled though the receiver, heavy with surprise and relief and emotion. “Kurt?”  
  
“Yes. He’s—”  
  
“You’re sure it’s him?”  
  
“ _Yes_. He’s leaving the school now. He was asking a couple of my students about Anderson.”  
  
“Shit.”  
  
Roger frowned, sitting down in his plush, leather chair and tapping a few things on his keyboard to bring up security camera footage, following the two figures in question as they moved about his school. “I expect you’ll stop hindering my actions, then?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Burt, I did what you asked. I let the Anderson creature be because _you_ were convinced that if he was here again, your son would follow. I endangered the lives of my students on a whim because you asked it of me. But he’s here now, your son. So, I trust you’ll allow me to now do what has to be done.”  
  
There was silence on the other end, nothing but the slow sound of breathing. The rumble of the engine that had sounded in the background had died, as though its driver had pulled over to the side of the road. “Give me until nightfall.”  
  
“Burt, I swear—”  
  
“Roger. Give me the rest of the day. That’s all I ask. The rest of the day, and the chance to get to my son before he does something he’s going to regret. Then you can do what you need to do.”  
  
“Fine.”

~

  
 _“Mr. Hummel?”  
  
“That’s me,” Burt grunted, not looking up from where he was buried in the machinery of the car he was working on, twisting his screwdriver with a practiced flick of his wrist. “What’s up?”  
  
There was an amused chuckle and if Burt had looked briefly out of the corner of his eye, he would see the shiny tips of dress shoes approaching, moving easily over the oil-stained cement of his garage. “Need a hand?”  
  
“You know what, yeah, if you could grab that carburetor for me . . .” Burt started, pulling back from the engine he was absorbed in to look at the person approaching him. As his eyes met the expensive wool overcoat, royal blue and well cared for, and moved up up to the checkered scarf and smiling, tan face, he felt his words die in his throat.  
  
The boy he was looking at missed his expression as he turned to the box of engine parts near the car, golden gaze scanning them for the part in question. Burt felt himself stiffen, the blood in his veins dropping below freezing temperature and transforming into slush. His pulse quickened, trying to push life back into his limbs, his breaths coming quick and stuttered and forced, his eyes disbelieving.  
  
All he could see as he stared at the back of the boy before him was that old video footage, the surveillance tapes from the hospital, playing across the rich blue fabric like a movie on a screen. He could hear a doctor’s words ringing through his head in an amplified whisper, booming almost louder than the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart, like it was about to give out again.  
  
It couldn’t be.  
  
He almost missed the moment the boy turned around with the carburetor in his hands, the quick movement that dropped it back in the box as he stepped forward with a concerned murmur of, “Mr. Hummel? Mr. Hummel, sir, are you okay? Mr. Hummel? You’re not . . . Shit, Kurt said you’d had a heart attack earlier this year, is this . . . Mr. Hummel—”  
  
It was his son’s name, combined with the sudden press of a hand against his shoulder that shot life back into Burt’s limbs and he jumped back as though electrocuted, cursing as his head collided with the hood of the car, shooting a searing pain through his nerves.  
  
“Fine, I’m fine,” he grunted, waving the boy away as he stepped forward again, concern etched into every one of his beautiful features, shining in his eyes. Burt was drawn to it, now that he was able to take a proper look and even as emotions swirled through his system he found himself succumbing to the numbing shock of surprise. The undeniable beauty of the boy before him.  
  
The boy that hadn’t aged a day since the last time Burt had seen him, ten years ago.  
  
“You know my son?” he asked gruffly, rubbing his head and wincing, every muscle in his body still tense and poised.  
  
The boy flashed him another concerned look, something shining in his gaze as Burt pulled his hand away from his head to check for blood. “Umm . . . yes. Sorry, we haven’t been properly introduced yet, have we? I’m Blaine. Anderson,” he added as a slight afterthought, the corners of his lips curling up pleasantly as he extended a hand toward Burt.  
  
Burt hesitated, eyes trained on the tan skin before grasping the hand carefully in his own, trying not to let his surprise at the warmth of it show. He pulled away a little too quickly. “He’s mentioned you.”  
  
Blaine looked pleased at this, turning away from Burt to pick up the part he’d asked for once again, holding it out to the man helpfully.  
  
Burt took it quickly, dropping back down under the hood and resuming his work, if only to have something to occupy himself with. “You know cars?” he blurted out, cursing silently the minute the words escaped his lips. He didn’t know why he said it, except for the fact that he could think of nothing else to say. What did one say in situations like these?  
  
Just out of his line of sight, Blaine crossed his arms and chuckled, the sound of it warm, yet still chilling Burt down to his toes. “Sort of. I’ve always had a general interest in them. In their history. My dad didn’t so much, not like you. He . . .” Blaine laughed again and when Burt looked up at him his eyes were trained to the ceiling, as though deep in thought. “My dad was more interested in things like sports and hunting.” Burt inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. “Believed that he could make me more of a man if I was taught to kill. Until . . .” Blaine’s brow furrowed and he paused, as though he had realized the words that were coming out of his mouth, hints and pieces and history. He continued, like he’d figured that he had revealed too much to stop. “Well, until my sexuality turned out to be the least of his problems,” he finished with a bitter chuckle.  
  
Burt swallowed heavily, the lump in his throat constricting and tight as he tried not to picture what had happened to the man in question. “You have a reason for coming to see me, son?” He was trying to be normal, but he could feel himself stuttering over the word ‘son,’ as though his body knew how unnatural it was for him to be using it.  
  
Blaine blinked and his eyes lit up, something in the smile that formed on his face making Burt impossibly uneasy. “Yes, actually. I was hoping to talk to you about Kurt.”_

~

  
Kurt saw it at the last minute, almost missing it as he tried to ignore the ringing of his phone. The truck speeding through the intersection. He swerved quickly, Impala jerking off the otherwise deserted road, just barely avoiding being clipped by the careless driver.  
  
He forced his door open when he saw the truck driving off the side of the road just in front of him and he leapt out of his car, stalking toward the other one.  
  
“Are you insane?” he yelled at the closed door as he approached, unable to see the driver through the tinted windows. “Are you trying to get someone killed?”  
  
The door popped open and Kurt stopped dead in his tracks, finding himself face to face with his father.  
  
Burt eyed him the way only a parent could, annoyance mixed with relief in his expression. “Nope. Just trying to get your attention, since you’re ignoring my calls.”

~

  
 _It was dark when Kurt got home for the weekend, the sky clouding with a hint of coming snow, despite the fact that it was almost March. He was surprised to see the lights off in his house when he pulled up, but as he entered the front hallway he caught a glimpse of a light coming from the kitchen and he grinned. Trust his dad to sneak into the kitchen for snacks when he was supposed to be resting and no one was home to monitor him.  
  
He shed his coat quickly and, leaving his satchel and boots near the door, made his way swiftly and silently toward the kitchen, ready to chew his dad out for not taking his health seriously.  
  
“You’re certain, Burt?”  
  
Kurt stilled, the sound of voices slowing his movements.  
  
“I’d know him anywhere, John,” Burt replied, the sound of his voice determined.  
  
“Burt, the only time you’ve seen him was on grainy surveillance tapes and one blurry photo taken in the maternity ward.”  
  
“It’s him, John, I’m telling you,” Burt asserted. In the hallway mirror, Kurt could see him with John Gibbins, one of his friends on the force. They were leaning over the island counter, shuffling through a series of papers spread out over its surface. “It was him.”  
  
“Burt, you have to be absolutely certain of what you’re telling me here,” John muttered, his voice low and cautious as he leaned toward Burt to look at the images in his hands. “I can’t take any actions unless you are. I’m not going to send the full force of the council after an innocent kid.”  
  
Burt sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “John, you’re married. You know what it’s like to be married, to choose to be partnered with someone for the rest of your life. It’s more than a signature on a piece of paper and a couple of metallic rings. It’s a bond and it doesn’t get cut when you lose each other. I can still feel her, in my heart, in my gut, even with Carole, and I . . .” Burt paused, shaking his head and leaning away from the images, taking one grainy, black and white photograph and pushing it toward his companion. “It’s him. Looking exactly like he did in this picture. _ Exactly _, John. It’s no coincidence, I’m telling you.”  
  
Kurt watched the uniform-clad man pick up the photograph and stare at it, looking from its contents to Burt’s determined gaze and back again before setting it down. “Okay. I’ll make sure the right actions are taken,” he said finally. Burt sighed in relief, letting his head drop down between his shoulders at the words, looking up only when John murmured softly, “What are you going to do about Kurt?”  
  
Kurt stiffened at the sound of his own name in the strange conversation, eyes trained on his father as the man looked up, his gaze pained. “I have to tell him the truth.”  
  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”  
  
“John, he . . . He’s friends with my son,” Burt countered, his voice laced with desperation. “He is _ friends _with my_ son _. Kurt even . . . I think Kurt even_ likes _him as something more and I can’t hide it from him, I . . . I have to tell him.”  
  
“Tell me what?” Kurt asked suddenly, stepping into the kitchen, eyes looking between the two men situated in it as they both reacted to his presence. “Hey, Officer Gibbins.”  
  
“Evenin’, Kurt,” he received in response as John picked up his keys and walkie talkie from the counter. “I was just heading out.” He leaned toward Burt as he was passing, murmuring in an undertone, “Leave this to me, Burt. No matter how much you might want to, do not go after this kid yourself.”  
  
“What’re you talking about, John?”  
  
“You know what you were telling me just now, Burt? About your gut feeling about Elizabeth. You think I don’t know what that means? You think I don’t know the things that people will do to avenge their loved ones when they get the chance? I’m telling you, Burt, no matter how much you might want to act yourself, leave this to us. Kurt doesn’t deserve to lose another parent like that.”  
  
Without another word, John pulled away and walked past Burt, patting Kurt lightly on the arm as he made his way out of the kitchen.  
  
Kurt turned to watch him go, his mouth dry from nerves, watched until he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway before turning back to the kitchen. “Dad?” he murmured quietly, taking in the shape of his dad as he was bent over the counter, the curve of his back smooth under his rumpled T-shirt, his face buried in his hands. “Dad, what’s going on?”  
  
Burt inhaled into his palms, raising his head and gesturing form the seat around the corner from him. “Sit down, son.”  
  
“Dad, what’s going on?” Kurt insisted, approaching the island counter and standing to Burt’s right, staring at him intently. “Are you okay? This doesn’t have anything to do with your health or anything? Dad—” he stopped suddenly, his gaze falling from his father to the papers that were scattered over the marble of the counter. “Dad . . .” he repeated slowly, moving past the pile of photographs that the two men had been discussing and reaching instead for the nearest piece of paper with a familiar name on it. “Dad, these are . . . these are all of mom’s medical records . . . from when she was hospitalized . . .” he said slowly, staring blankly at the documents lying before him. “Dad, why are you looking at all this?”  
  
Beside him, Burt took a deep breath, the inhale weary and oddly sad. “Sit down, Kurt,” he commanded again, age and exhaustion woven like silver threads into his words as they hung on the air.  
  
Wordlessly, Kurt dropped down into the stool beside Burt, still staring in shock at the harsh stamp of black ink on white paper, stark letters typing out his mother’s name.  
  
“Kurt, I’m sorry.”  
  
Kurt looked up, his brow furrowing. “Why are you apologizing to me, dad?”  
  
Burt let out a humorless chuckle, short and harsh and soundless. “I suppose I have a lot to apologize to you for, kiddo. The fact that I’ve lied to you for the past ten years. The fact that, if it were up to me, I’d continue to.”  
  
“Dad, you’re scaring me,” Kurt whispered, dropping the piece of paper and finally allowing his gaze to stray to the remainder of the papers, scattered haphazardly before him. Burt could see the very instant when Kurt paid full attention to the photographs, the stills from hospital security cameras, grainy and blurry but still so, so clear if only one chose to look carefully at them. He watched the blood drain from his son’s face and the way his blue eyes widened in shock, his hand reaching to brush over the sheen of photograph paper. “Dad, what—”  
  
“Kurt, I need to tell you something about your mother, and I need you to hear me out, no matter how unbelievable you might find it,” Burt said suddenly, laying a hand over Kurt’s wrist as he reached for the image. “Because you know me, kid. I wouldn’t tell you something outlandish unless I had no choice but to believe it. Hell, I wouldn’t tell you this unless I had no choice, but I have to keep you safe.” Kurt didn’t answer, his wide eyes trained on the figure in the photographs. “Kurt, what do you remember about when your mom died?”  
  
“Just that . . .” Kurt murmured, slow and dazed as though he were in a trance, his eyes never leaving the photographs on which they were trained. “It was cancer . . . it was the tumor and there was no way to get it out and she . . . died, I don’t know—”  
  
“That was the diagnosis,” Burt interrupted gently, his hand still keeping Kurt from reaching out to the papers he’d brought out after all this time. “They said there was next to no chance of her survival. But it wasn’t the cancer that killed her, Kurt.”  
  
“Then how . . .” Kurt whispered, his gaze frozen, his body stiff.  
  
“Blood loss.”  
  
At this Kurt blinked, starting visibly as a tremor ran through his entire body and he looked at Burt properly for the first time since seeing Elizabeth’s hospitalization records laid out on the counter before him. “What do you mean, blood loss?”  
  
“When they . . . when they found her body in the morning it . . . it was drained of blood, Kurt.”  
  
Kurt didn’t move except to train his eyes back to those images, the ones that had been presented to Burt when he’d laughed off the notion ten years ago. The ones that had thrown his entire body into shock when the uniform-clad boy had wandered into his shop to talk to him about his son.  
  
Kurt swallowed and Burt could see him, see him fighting his brain from putting the pieces together. Because if they fit, if it all came together in his head now, it would only serve to break his whole reality.  
  
“Dad. This . . . this is Blaine,” he said finally, his voice low and wrecked from nerves, from shock and the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. “This is Blaine, why do you have—”  
  
“Because that’s him, Kurt,” Burt said slowly, quietly as though the volume of his voice mattered in the relation of such delicate information. “That’s the vampire that killed your mother.”_

~

  
“Let me go, dad,” Kurt demanded, trying to make his way around Burt, to get back to his car, but his father was unrelenting, anticipating his movements and stepping into them.  
  
“Nice of you to call and say you were in town,” Burt countered casually, standing with his feet spread wide as he watched Kurt stop in their little dance and groan, running his hand through his hair messily as he started pacing.  
  
  
“Dad, please, I’m sorry, I really am, but I can’t do this with you right now,” Kurt mumbled, his frustration fading into something impeccably sad that took Burt’s heart in a vice-like grip.  
  
“Because it’s interfering with your obsessive vampire-killing spree?” Burt questioned in surprise, his eyes trained on the son he hadn’t seen in ten years. The one he was supposed to raise, but hadn’t even seen grow up. “Kurt, don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”  
  
Kurt made a noncommittal noise, continuing to pace back and forth as though, as though there were a great battle going on inside of him, jerking him in two different directions. “I have to do this, dad. I’ve been going at it for too long to just walk away now.”  
  
“Kurt,” Burt murmured, taking a step toward his son, his voice wrecked with desperation. His eyes were trained on Kurt’s face, on his cut, coiffed hair, mussed and ruined from the amount of times he’d unconsciously run his hands through it. His eyes, glittering with unparalleled strength and determination. The hard line of his jaw, the curved shape of his cheekbones. The several inches he had on the Kurt that Burt remembered. “Don’t do this. Walk away before you do something you’re going to regret.”  
  
“You wanted this.”  
  
“I . . . what?” Burt started, frowning at the strange little interruption.  
  
Kurt laughed softly, eyes trained at the ground. “I heard it. John Gibbins expected it from you, didn’t he?” he asked, raising his eyes and fixing his father with a steely glare. “He warned you not to go after Blaine in some crazy plot of revenge. Didn’t want you getting yourself killed. Didn’t want me losing both my parents to a vampire attack. But you would have done it, wouldn’t you?” Kurt continued quietly, taking a small step toward his father and Burt was startled by the anxiety shining in Kurt’s eyes, the force with which he wished to compel Burt to see his reason. “Because you loved her and he _ripped_ that away from you. Dad . . . you . . . you raised me to see everything through to the end. I can’t walk away from this, I _can’t_. If I just leave, it’s not going to stop. There’s going to be more death, and more violence and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, but I can’t walk away from this. Not after all this time. Not when I’m so close.”  
  
Burt didn’t answer, choosing simply to gaze sadly at his son. Kurt waited for some sort of response, eyes shining with determination mixed with strange little droplets of pain. Of the fight still going on within him. After a beat of silence, Kurt took a tentative step to his right, watching his father to see if he would try to intercept him again. When Burt did nothing but watch his son, Kurt stepped around him and walked back to the Impala, his shoulders hunched and his pace quick.  
  
“How that fair, then, kid?”  
  
Kurt froze at the door of the car, his hand curling hard over the door handle. “How is what fair?” he responded quietly.  
  
“How come you don’t get to lose both your parents, but I have to lose my wife _and_ my son?”  
  
Kurt closed his eyes, his face contorting as though the words were causing him physical pain. His knuckles were white hot from his grip on the metal door handle.  
  
He wrenched the door open quickly, refusing to look at Burt, to betray himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll be home tonight,” he muttered quickly before dropping into his seat and slamming the door shut.

~

  
 _“What is that? I’ve heard it before,” Kurt asked curiously, looking up from his reading where he was sprawled out on his stomach on Blaine’s bed.  
  
Blaine’s fingers continued to strum out the familiar melody, but he glanced up at Kurt with a smile. “I hope so,” he replied with mock indignation. “It’s ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes. “You forget that not everyone is as obsessed with Top 40 radio as you are, Blaine Anderson.”  
  
Blaine made a face at him, pausing in his music-making to throw his guitar pick at Kurt’s head. Kurt let out an undignified squawk as the small piece of plastic hit him in the temple and he threw Blaine a dirty look as the latter laughed, continuing to strum gently with the backs of his nails, his soft singing voice filling the quiet space around them.  
  
And I’d give up forever to touch you  
‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't want to go home right now  
  
Kurt smiled, about to go back to his book when he felt the heat of Blaine’s gaze trained on him as he sang. He could feel it roving over his body, slow and almost hungry. Could feel its presence lingering on the smooth line of Kurt’s neck, all the way down to the outline of his collarbone where it was visible, exposed by the deep V-neck of the Dalton T-shirt he was wearing.  
  
He could feel the rush of blood to his face, the deep blush spreading over his cheekbones. The flash of Blaine’s gaze to it as he continued to sing, his voice growing lower and rougher the longer he looked.  
  
And I don't want the world to see me  
‘Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am._

~

  
The grass was soft under Kurt’s feet as he walked. He could see the lights of the Anderson manor before him as he made his way through the neighbor’s yards, his car parked a couple of blocks away so as not to attract more attention than he had to. He flicked from shadow to shadow, pausing near the gravel of the long, winding driveway. He crouched down, eyes scanning over the old house in careful scrutiny.  
  
He didn’t know the layout of the house very well, having only been there once with Blaine over winter break. When Blaine had claimed that his parents were out and he wanted to show Kurt around the manor. Kurt could remember it like it had just happened the other day, his awe and excitement, eyes flying to old portraits and intricate wall designs, sloping ceilings and brightly lit chandeliers. And Blaine, strong, calm, secretly dangerous Blaine following him with his eyes, taking in every one of his emotions as it was etched across his face. With each artifact thrilling his blood, making it rush through his veins like down a waterfall, Blaine stared at him like he could hear it, like it pounded just as strongly through his eardrums and he _hungered_ for it. With each high ceiling, forcing Kurt to throw his head back, Blaine’s eyes were draw to the movement of his throat, to the long line of muscle under his pale skin, the long silver chain that followed the cut of his shirt before disappearing under it, his eyes glittering desperately under the dim light all the while.  
  
Kurt closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear his own thoughts out. This was not the time to think about it and instead he swore quietly under his breath, at the brightly lit house for making it harder to hide in the shadows, at himself for seeing Blaine in those moments, those brief flashes and never realizing, never suspecting.  
  
He checked his supplies, the gun still tucked in the waistband of his jeans, two stakes hidden away in the pockets he’d sewn himself in the inner lining of his jacket. He carefully zipped his jacket up after determining everything was intact and walked slowly toward the brightly-lit house, his guard up and his eyes passing from one illuminated window to the next, trying to discern movement, but the house was quiet and he couldn’t see anything stirring within. He swallowed at the fact, nothing in it allowing him to take his guard down, not as his boots crunched quietly as he made his way toward the front door, not when he reached it and found it open. He should have long ago learned not to concern himself with that detail; Blaine never locked his doors. His powers were his own best security system, but the fact never failed to inject uneasiness into Kurt. Like maybe this time the door was open because he was anticipated.  
  
He remained on the doorstep quietly, out of sight of any of the windows, his hand reaching for his gun as he cautiously eased the door open, movements poised for that tell-tale creak of a door that would resound through horror movies.  
  
But the door moved soundlessly on its hinges, swinging open and revealing a dimly lit entryway. Kurt could feel his stomach clenching with memory and he leaned against the door frame, body bending at the waist as he breathed, his stomach twisting around its empty contents and he fought to keep the bile from rising up this throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing steadiness into his inhales and when he opened them again they were shining with a steely light, burning with determination.  
  
The floors were covered with a plush carpet, rich and old and spread over the dark wooden floors. Kurt walked carefully on it, allowing his boots to sink into it as it absorbed the sound of his movements. The house was quiet, as though it were slumbering and Kurt would have almost succumbed to the instinct that it was empty, if not for the brightly lit rooms branching off from the main hallway and the tiny, barely discernible sound of music playing deep within it.  
  
The only dark room that he passed the staircase, his shoulder pressed against the wall, was some sort of study, lit only by the bright white glow of a laptop screen. Kurt didn’t pause to look at it, too focused on following the music to the object of his hunt to concern himself with Blaine’s internet browsing history.  
  
The silence concerned him as he pressed his back against the wall beneath the staircase, eyes trailing up briefly but again seeing nothing. When the hallway ended he paused, taking a deep breath and flexing his fingers around the weapon before tightening his grip and stepping around the corner, raising the weapon against the room, his jaw stiff and his eyes blazing, roving over the details of the room as quickly as he could.  
  
The room before him was empty, just as the rest of the house appeared to be. The long, mahogany dining room table stretched out long before him, just as it always had, its spotless wood sparkling under the light that flickered from the lit candles spaced at even intervals along its length. Kurt inhaled, his throat clenching at the intricately arranged place settings, table looking as though it were set for a feast. Near its head stood a drink cart, lined with gorgeously carved crystal bottles two holding a bright amber liquid and one filled with something deep and blood red.  
  
Every muscle in Kurt’s body froze at the sight of it, stiffening as though petrified and despite everything, despite every little care he’d put into planning this, into making sure it worked, he couldn’t move, the thick liquid captivating his very soul.  
  
He slowly became aware that the music that was playing wasn’t coming from that old gramophone but from a small iPod dock sitting next to it. When the words of the song, playing so, so quietly, like it had been stalking him, taking him as its prey and drawing him in out of curiosity, only to betray him.  
  
 _And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming  
Or the moment of truth in your lies  
When everything feels like the movies  
Yeah, you'd bleed just to know you're alive_  
  
There was a breeze against the back of his neck, a hot swirl of air that chilled him to the core, raising goose bumps, whispering so close that it was almost as though it were coming from an entity within Kurt.  
  
“Oh, there you are.”

~

  
 _It was late when he got back to Dalton, his body numb, his mind unaware of the route, his father’s words twisting themselves around his head in a complicated, nauseating dance.  
  
He didn’t know if he believed it. How could he?  
  
He thought it would be harder to find Blaine, to sneak in the dorms to talk to him, but he saw him almost the instant he stepped out of his car into the parking lot and started making his way toward the dorms. Saw one boy pressing another against a brick wall near the side of the main building, the former’s face buried in the neck of the latter. The latter’s neck stretched taunt, his head back against the wall and mouth open, short little gasps of air escaping.  
  
Kurt would have normally flushed, eased away out of embarrassment at interrupting such a moment but in that instant he froze, his eyes wide and his body cold and unfeeling. At the stilling of his quick steps, the latter boy’s head lolled to the side, his long blonde hair falling into his eyes, which stared at Kurt, cool and dark and lifeless.  
  
“Blaine.”  
  
He felt as though there were a crack running through his heart as the second body stiffened, pulling away and allowing the one he’d been pressing up against the wall to crumple to the ground like a broken marionette.  
  
His face was half shadowed by the building next to him when he looked at Kurt, but even in the distance he could see it. The animalistic shine in Blaine’s eyes, reflected toward him like that of a nocturnal animal. The stain of thick red liquid that slid past his parted lips, sharp incisors shining, and carved a harsh rivulet from the corner of his lips to his chin.  
  
It was all Kurt could take in as his world stilled to a halt and he stumbled several paces back before turning on his heel and sprinting back to his car._

~

  
The breath in his ear was like an adrenaline rush, thrusting life back into his muscles. He whirled around on his heel, his weapon arm flying up and firing a shot into the air before him. He inhaled sharply at the crack of the gun, the vervain dart that flew through the empty space behind him, the thud as it embedded itself into the wall.  
  
He took a step backward from where the voice had sounded in his ear a second ago, his heart pounding.  
  
“You’re late, you know.”  
  
He spun toward the voice, firing another shot in its direction, the force of the blast from his weapon sending him stumbling backward, the dart flying toward its target.  
  
He was about to fire another one, his mind a blur except for the slim figure in front of him and the press of the trigger against his finger, but he froze, blood running cold as the creature before him didn’t move except to flick his wrist quicker than Kurt could blink and tilt his head to observe the tiny dart caught between this thumb and pointer finger.  
  
“Are these vervain darts?” Blaine murmured, his glance moving slowly from the object held carefully in his grasp to Kurt and in the instant that his eyes settled on Kurt he felt petrified, his legs filled with cement and sinking him into the floor and it was all he could do to stare angrily at Blaine, at the weapon held so casually between his fingers. “That is . . .” he continued, his voice low and silky smooth, like he were pulling the world into an unwary slumber. “Very clever. I applaud you, finally getting clever.” He spoke casually, free hand leaning against the drink cart, as though Kurt had popped in for a spot of tea and the tone jolted Kurt, fueled his anger and raised his weapon arm.  
  
He’d barely flexed his trigger finger when a pain shot through his wrist, the vice-like grip of a hand curling around it as Blaine suddenly appeared against his back, breath hot in his ear and hand crushing muscle and bone together until Kurt gave a pained exclamation and his hand released the gun.  
  
The instant it began its fall toward the carpeted floor the pressure from around Kurt’s wrist disappeared and Blaine was back on the other side of the room, leaning casually against the dining room table, twirling the gun easily between his long fingers. Kurt could feel his body clenching in anger at the sight of it, his eyes narrowing and his hands furling into fists at the heat of rage bubbling in his core and he forced himself not to move, to stay where he was, gaze so harsh and hateful that if looks could kill, Blaine would have been eviscerated, vampire or not.  
  
Blaine simply looked at him sternly as they stared from opposite sides of the room, his gaze disapproving and even holding in it the slightest hint of disappointment, but it wasn’t the expression of the Blaine that Kurt had once known. It was terrifying in its openness, the kind that had been hidden behind a mask when Kurt had first met him. It simmered with reality, with a hungry heat, glowing like embers above the curve of his smirk, something of a natural bloodlust and evil in it. He’d discarded the uniform and sat instead in a pair of black jeans and a T-shirt, the deep V of it falling low over his chest, the slim fabric clinging to his muscles. His curls were clean and natural, forming small ringlets. He looked like a dream and Kurt almost felt himself falling into it, that strange heady haze, but for the look in his eyes, the expression on his face as he gazed at Kurt. Like he could devour him whole at any given moment.  
  
“It’s not like you to be such a terribly rude houseguest, Kurt,” Blaine murmured after a moment, his gaze boring into Kurt, the fire in his eyes like a paralytic, draining his body of the ability to move. He shifted his weight onto his feet, which Kurt just then noticed were bare, and placed the dart gun carefully on the drink cart, his tan finger curling around the bottle of dark red liquid and tipping it onto a liquor glass. “Arriving late to dinner, trying to shoot me before we’ve even had a proper chat.” Kurt felt his throat close up at the thickness of the liquid that stained the sides of the bottle as it was poured out. Blaine set it down and picked up the glass, bringing it to his lips and holding it there as his eyes unraveled the threads of life that held Kurt together. “I know for a fact your parents raised you better.”  
  
“You leave them out of this!” Kurt growled, his vocal chords finding their strength and the thoughts that were raging through his mind shot out, bitter, angry and slicing through the air like a knife.c  
  
Blaine looked unaffected, only his smirk intensifying as he drank long and deep from his glass, the thick liquid sticking to the sides as he set it down again. He tilted his head to observe Kurt, like curious animal ascertaining its prey and his tongue darted out to lick the dark liquid from his lips.  
  
“Well, well, it finally speaks,” he said after a beat, tongue moving over his bottom lip to keep the harsh color of red from lingering like a stain.  
  
“I’m not the ‘it’ in the room,” Kurt snapped back.  
  
He inhaled sharply as Blaine’s gaze hardened, a sharp snap resounding throughout the room as Blaine’s grip on the tumbler in his hands tightened, a crack splitting through its delicate frame. Kurt could feel the chill of fear spreading through him truly for the first time, like the anger that blazed suddenly in Blaine’s eyes, killing his easy demeanor, was working to cover the room with frost.  
  
He stood with his fists clenched, his gaze carving a hole throughout Kurt’s chest. Kurt would have thought that time had frozen, had dissolved into nothing had it not been for the forced, completely controlled movement of Blaine’s chest as he inhaled and the brief trickle of blood that was squeezed out from his clenched fist, two drops of it falling to the carpet near his feet.  
  
Blaine blinked as the crystalline blue of Kurt’s eyes dropped to his hand, the hate in his face relaxing unconsciously at the sight of the blood. It seemed to jerk him out of his own anger and his fist unclenched as he raised it, face twisting into an unreadable expression as he watched the wounds cut into his palm by the force of his own nails heal quickly.  
  
As though a spell were being lifted, Kurt could feel his blood moving again as Blaine stood quietly looking at his palm. He’d been caught off guard, had allowed himself to be lured in, thrown by the easy power that Blaine had always displayed since Kurt had found him out, but as he stood now, his attention off of Kurt, he was able to think again. And his mind raced, mapping out plans and scenarios. He could get Blaine to lose focus, he just had to work the situation correction. He just had to keep him distracted.  
  
Had to keep himself distracted.  
  
The instant Kurt had taken a step neared to the table, Blaine’s eyes flew to him, catching the movement with a narrowed gaze. Kurt swallowed but continued moving, taking long, slow footsteps to the other end of the table, placing the solidity of the old wood between them. “You knew I was coming,” he said finally, his voice low, his mind racing with the need to fill the silence while he thought. “How did you know I was in Lima?”  
  
It was a moment after the sound of his voice reached Blaine that the cocky, confident persona of the vampire returned. Kurt swallowed at the long, hard look that Blaine had given him, his eyes unreadable, but the examination passed and he smirked, pouring the blood from the cracked glass into a new container. “Really, Kurt, your naiveté surprises me.”  
  
Kurt stopped, his drawn brows unfurling into an expression of confusion. “Excuse me?”  
  
Blaine smirked, starting to mimic Kurt’s walk around the table. The action jolted through Kurt as innately predatory and he moved backward, keeping his eyes trained on Blaine and as much of the table between them as possible. Blaine raised an eyebrow at the action as he walked, the hunter in him swimming in his eyes as he swirled the liquid in his glass around. “Should I tell you what you thought would happen here tonight?” he asked coolly, his eyes never leaving Kurt’s. “You assumed life would be like books and movies and you’d have your . . . grand little moment of victory,” he continued, his voice harsh with sarcasm, free hand waving through the air as though to shatter his words. “I’m sure you admired the poetry of it all, didn’t you, the _romanticism_? Everything fitting into patterns and you finishing it all where it began.”  
  
Kurt stopped again, his feet sinking into the carpet. “What?” he whispered, his voice hushed as the reality of Blaine’s words gripped him.  
  
“Though . . . really, if you wanted to ‘end it where it began,’ we’d really have to go to Paris,” Blaine mused, his voice slightly mocking, laughter riding on its vibrations as they echoed throughout the now-silent room. “If you want to get technical about it. Oh, now there’s a thought!” Kurt jumped, his heart skipping violently as Blaine slapped a hand down on the table, the metal of the ring on his left pointer finger echoing loudly. “We should go to Paris,” he said, his voice not quite the volume of a shout, but his eyes glittered, like it was all a game. “You and me and Paris. Oh, the things I could show you,” he purred suddenly, a spark blazing in amber abyss of his eyes as he gazed at Kurt.  
  
“I would never—”  
  
“I’ll even go first and let you think you’re chasing after me,” Blaine interrupted. “If that’ll make you feel better . . . keeping up the façade . . . this little game of cat and mouse . . .”  
  
“I’m not playing with you.”  
  
Blaine pursed his lips, looking like he was trying to keep the smirk on his face from widening further. “Aren’t you, _sweetheart_?” he murmured thoughtfully.  
  
Kurt bristled at the endearment, the way it dripped from Blaine’s lips like water from the walls of a sewer. “Why are you here?” he asked, a forced calm in his voice, his eyes taking in each of Blaine’s movements, each time he looked away to take a sip, each patterned action that would follow.  
  
“Darling, I live here.”  
  
Kurt’s hand twitched, his blood boiling. “Don’t play dumb. Why did you come back?”  
  
He saw Blaine’s eyes dart to the movement of his hand, the barely restrained jolt of adrenaline that threatened to send his grip flying to the weapons carefully concealed under the rough leather of his jacket. Blaine contemplated the article of clothing for a beat before speaking. “What can I say, Kurt.” There was a moment of silence before Kurt’s name was uttered, Blaine’s tongue curling around it, drawing out the sound of the _u_ before the hard ending fell like a stone. “Two months since I last saw you. Maybe I missed you, _my dear_ , and I knew you couldn’t resist.”  
  
“Resist what?”  
  
“I already told you. The _romanticism_ of it all.”  
  
Kurt’s eyes widened, aware that Blaine was watching him carefully to see his reaction. To see the quickening of his pulse, the fading of color from his face like the spread of frost over a window. The realization that there was no upper hand to be lost, no satisfaction to be had from catching a creature that had always meant to be found.  
  
He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry, the sides of it scratching together painfully, the friction like sandpaper when he swallowed. Blaine smirked at this, still swirling the blood in his glass, like a connoisseur trying to air out a glass of wine. In the silence, he spoke again, eyes trained on Kurt. “You should thank your father for me, by the way. If you see him.”  
  
It was the ‘if’ that did it, that froze Kurt’s heart. “What have you done to him?”  
  
Blaine looked offended, his gaze narrowing angrily again. “I haven’t done anything to him. If anything, he’s done me quite a service, keeping that idiot of a headmaster that Dalton’s found itself from rounding up the village and charging up here with pitchforks a la _Beauty and the Beast_.”  
  
Kurt almost didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to play that game, the one where Blaine lured him in, little by little, with vague snippets and hints that forced one to demand answers. “What do you mean?”  
  
Blaine laughed coldly, frowning at his empty glass, the tiniest residues of red-liquid still clinging to its sides. When he looked up, Kurt felt his stomach sink. “Haven’t been a very good son, have you?” Blaine murmured, the reprimand touched by a hint of his mocking tone. “Must not have been, if your father is so desperate to see you that he keeps . . . well, I suppose the one person he wants dead alive. All on the chance that you’d follow me.”  
  
Kurt’s lip curled unpleasantly. “‘The one he wants dead.’ You mean my mother’s murderer.”  
  
A quick flash of fire. “If you wish. I was trying to be delicate.”  
  
The expanse of the table was between them, the candles lit along its length flickering and illuminating Blaine’s eyes. Kurt could almost feel the heat of the fireplace behind him, even though the ashes in it lay cool and dry.  
  
Kurt inhaled, his eyes sweeping over the distance between them, his hand straying toward the edge of his jacket. “‘Delicate?’” he repeated softly, his voice low and harsh. Blaine’s eyes remained on his, never flashing toward the movement, frozen as though he were holding his breath. Kurt laughed suddenly, short and soundless. “I have no need of your fucking _delicacy_. Not when I plan to slaughter you like the fucking _animal_ you are—”  
  
His hand was inside his jacket, curving around the wood of the stake hidden inside it when his back hit the bricks of the fireplace with a sickening crunch. He let out a cry of pain, hand inside his jacket captured in that same, vice-like grip. His free hand flew to strike out at the body that had thrust him against the wall, but it too was captured, fingers curling around it so tight that he was afraid that his wrist would snap. Blaine pressed close against him, pinning both his arms to his sides.  
  
“I could _destroy_ you,” Blaine hissed in his ear, that odd, terrifying strain of rage triggered in him. Kurt growled angrily, trying to wrench his body free but Blaine moved his arms swiftly upward, pressing them hard against the wall above Kurt’s head, the rough cut of brick biting into the soft skin of his wrists. “You don’t even know how easily I could do it, all the ways I could fucking break you. I could shatter you between my thumb and forefinger before you could even blink.”  
  
“What the hell are you waiting for, then?” Kurt snarled back, and something shifted in the white-hot fire burning in Blaine’s eyes. “Go ahead and kill me, then, if it’s so damn easy.”  
  
His voice dissolved into a gasp of pain, his head flying back against the wall as his pinned wrists were squeezed, nails pressing hard into the soft flesh. He could feel his own pulse pounding under the skin, against the hard pressure of Blaine’s palms. When he opened his eyes, his breath caught in his throat and something hot stirred in his chest.  
  
He couldn’t place them, those burst of fury, the heat forcing Blaine’s rage to overflow but it was like the fire had been removed from under a pot of water soon after it was brought to a boil. Their faces were so close that Kurt could see his own reflection, torn between the dangerously driving anger of revenge and the inescapable fear of an inevitable end. He realized that it was the first time in years that they were so close. No whispered words behind his ear that disappeared as though dispersed by the wind the minute Kurt turned around; instead, he was faced with head-on entrapment, the time altering sea of green and gold in Blaine’s eyes that held him frozen in place, anticipating the fulfillment of old promises.  
  
It stirred something in the very pit of Kurt’s soul and in a flurry of hate he pushed it down.  
  
“I’m not going to kill you,” Blaine said finally, his gaze flickering between Kurt’s bared teeth and his narrowed eyes. His voice was low, like boiling water being brought down to a simmer. The sudden expression in his eyes was closed off and unreadable. “At least . . . not yet.”  
  
“No better time than the present,” Kurt growled, though his throat clenched at the thought of what he was, in essence, demanding.  
  
Blaine didn’t answer, standing so close that Kurt could feel the heat of him, the way it engulfed him and drown him in the emotions that were fighting for dominance in the pit of Kurt’s stomach. It wasn’t even physical heat, the touch of his hands cooler than usual against Kurt’s wrists. It was something in his presence, something overbearing and heart-stuttering. He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Kurt’s but it was almost as though he couldn’t see the boy right in front of him.  
  
“I could smell you,” he said suddenly, the statement so quiet and unexpected that Kurt started, his body jolting. He made a pained noise as Blaine’s grip around his wrists tightened, as though expecting him to jerk away. He was shorter than Kurt but something about his presence seemed to make him taller, make him hover over Kurt.  
  
“What?” Kurt stuttered, his blood cold and freezing in his veins. “You . . . in the parking lot, I . . .”  
  
Blaine didn’t answer. His inhales were deep, like the proximity was intoxicating and he was trying to capture Kurt’s scent, but each time his lungs filled his breath stuttered and he let it out quickly, almost like a gasp. “So you were in the parking lot, then,” Blaine murmured, his eyes moving from Kurt’s face to the long line of his neck. Kurt jerked his head back as Blaine moved forward, but it only worked to expose more of his neck to the vampire. Blaine exhaled shakily, his breath hot against Kurt’s pulse point. “I thought I sensed someone, but I didn’t see you. No . . . it was on the staircase . . . some guy bumped into me practically _reeking_ of you.” He inhaled, face close so close to Kurt’s skin that Kurt could almost feel the air compressing between them. “So good, just imagine how you must taste . . .”  
  
Kurt’s breath stuttered and his entire body stiffened at the soft scrape of sharp canines against the surface of his skin, not hard enough to break it, but their presence was sufficient to send shivers down Kurt’s spine. Blaine let out a guttural groan, his hands flexing against Kurt’s wrist and the little vervain-laced charms hanging from the long chain around Kurt’s neck felt heavy against his chest, as though it were trying to make him feel guilty.

~

  
 _Blaine’s blazer clad shoulder was warm against his own as he sat and watched Pavarotti flitting around his cage._  
  
 _“Hey, listen, I’m sorry that your . . . inauguration into the Warblers hasn’t been quite the one you expected,” he said finally, brushing his fingers against the bars of the cage and looking sad when Pavarotti chirped loudly and fluttered a couple of inches away._  
  
 _Kurt shrugged, leaning back into the plush leather of the Dalton couches. “I wasn’t really expecting that much, to be honest. My only expectations were that I wouldn’t get tossed into lockers while I was here and so far those have been fulfilled, so I’m not complaining.”_  
  
 _Blaine chuckled softly, still gazing with an inexplicable somberness at the little golden bird. After a moment he licked his lips and sat back, reaching into his pocket. “Here, I got you something.”_  
  
 _Kurt’s brow furrowed in surprise, heart stuttering a little as Blaine’s fingers brushed against his own when handing over the small box that had been withdrawn from the pocket of his blazer. ”What’s the occasion?” he asked, cursing silently when his voice came out far more breathy than he would have liked._  
  
 _Blaine shrugged, not quite looking at Kurt. “No occasion. I just saw it and I thought of you.”_  
  
 _Kurt raised an eyebrow inquisitively before pushing up the lid of the box. “Oh,” he breathed softly, his fingers reaching automatically for the long silver chain and lifting it from the box, eyes drawn to two small charms attached to it, one a little silver cage, the other a flying bird. He let out a happy exhale, running a finger delicately over the intricate detailing of the tiny, antique-like charms. “Pavarotti is golden,” he joked softly, glancing up at Blaine with dancing eyes._  
  
 _“But I figured you’d think that a golden chain would make you feel like those fat, creepy European mafiosos,” Blaine responded easily, his hands twitching anxiously in his lap. His gaze was still trained on Kurt’s hands, as though he were uneasy looking Kurt directly in the eye. “Do you like it?”_  
  
 _“I love it,” Kurt murmured, one hand reaching up to loosen his tie. Blaine swallowed heavily, turning away from the movement to gaze at the real-sized cage on the table in front of him._  
  
 _“Can I say something?” he asked as Kurt popped open the top handful of buttons of his shirt._  
  
 _“Hmm?”_  
  
 _“I know . . .” Blaine started, his fingers intertwined over the harsh polyester of his uniform pants. “I know that you feel right now like Dalton is a prison. Like . . . it’s caging you in, away from the person that you are but . . . I’m not going to say that it’s not like that. That it’s a haven free of cages. It can be that, but only if you . . .” he paused, his lips in a tight line, his jaw stiff, “if you need it to be and you allow it. And somehow I feel like you and I are different enough that you won’t let it ensnare you.”_  
  
 _Kurt’s brow furrowed in confusion and he didn’t quite know what to say. So he settled on a soft, “Blaine,” and waited for the boy to respond. When Blaine didn’t move, he murmured, so softly that he was afraid he would have to repeat himself, “Blaine, look at me?”_  
  
 _Blaine seemed to steel himself and when he looked Kurt smiled at him, holding up the end of the chain that was wound around his neck before dropping it under the unbuttoned fabric of his shirt. “Thank you.”_  
  
 _Blaine relaxed almost instantly, his eyes trained on the exact spot where the charms were resting against Kurt’s undershirt before he finally looked Kurt in the eye. “You’re welcome.”_

~

  
Kurt squeezed his eyes shut against the memory as, against his skin still, Blaine muttered, “Are you frightened, Kurt?”  
  
Kurt’s stomach clenched as Blaine pulled back to fix him with a hard look. “I’m not afraid of you,” Kurt spat out, glaring at Blaine, but his breath threatened to stutter over the lie under the intensity of Blaine’s gaze.  
  
“Yes, you are,” Blaine countered quietly, ignoring the way Kurt exhaled and his arms flexed uselessly against the wall. “I can smell fear on you. Can feel it rolling off your body in waves, so thick and heavy they could knock a house over. It makes my mouth water,” he muttered, pausing for a beat before saying, almost to himself, “It almost covers it.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Blaine shook his head and his jaw clenched in anger, but it was a different thread of frustration from that one that had propelled Kurt’ against the wall. It seemed to lift walls and the battle in Blaine’s eyes was startling. It was the first time that Kurt had realized the stiffness of Blaine’s body, the soft quiver of muscle that had appeared with proximity, like he was holding himself back from something. “Sylvester thinks you’ve been compromised,” he whispered, almost accusingly, ignoring the way that Kurt’s eyes widened. “That’s why she pulled you off my trail, isn’t it?”  
  
“How do you know about that?”  
  
“Sweetheart, if you’d been around since the computer was invented you’d also know how to break into systems to find the information you need. She’s wrong, though, isn’t she?”  
  
Kurt swallowed hard, not even realizing the opportunity to fight back as both his wrists were enclosed by only one of Blaine’s hands, the other dropping down to take a firm grip of his chin. His lip curled in defiance, but he didn’t say anything.  
  
Blaine’s eyes were fixed on his lips thoughtfully, but his gaze was so heated that it seemed to be the sole cause of the beads of sweat that ran from behind Kurt’s ear down the line of his neck. “She’s wrong because she thinks it’s new, but . . . it’s not supposed to be. I was supposed to make sure you weren’t. I don’t know why it didn’t work . . .”  
  
“Almost covers what?”  
  
“Your lust.”  
  
Kurt exhaled sharply and tried to twist his head away from Blaine’s grip, but Blaine held him in place, eyes seeing straight into him. “I don’t want—”  
  
“Don’t you, though?” Blaine continued and Kurt was surprised to hear how wrecked his voice was, how desperate. “You always did. Even when I warned you not to and I can’t . . . I tried not to be selfish with you, but I can’t—”  
  
Kurt wanted to stop him, to break away and force him to explain what he meant but almost without warning Blaine was too close to focus on, his breath washing over Kurt’s lips in short, heated bursts and he couldn’t move, couldn’t twist away from it even after Blaine’s hand had dropped from his chin to press into the wall. Blaine hovered impossibly close to him, his presence felt from all sides even from behind closed eyelids and even though he couldn’t know it from experience, he could almost taste Blaine in each breath he took. He could feel his muscles shaking, quivering with the effort to keep distance. He didn’t know what broke his resistance, whether it was the flex of Blaine’s hand over his wrist or the small, desperate little noise he made but suddenly Kurt was letting out a grunt of frustration and Blaine’s lips were hard against his.  
  
He stiffened almost immediately at the contact, trying to pull back but his head collided against the wall as Blaine followed him, his tongue thrusting harshly into Kurt’s open mouth and desperate as he was to stop it, Kurt couldn’t. Couldn’t restrain the strength of the feeling that finally won the battle inside him, the clenching of his heart and the explosion of heat in his veins. Couldn’t keep in the groan that escaped him at the swiping thrust of Blaine’s tongue, at the press of his body along the length of Kurt’s and he suddenly wanted to touch, to run his hands over toned muscle and barely warm flesh but he could do nothing but battle with his tongue, his arms ever fastened above his head, Blaine’s free hand on his cheek.  
  
Blaine growled, the rumble possessive and animalistic and he sucked Kurt’s tongue into his mouth, sucking hard on it before doing the same with Kurt’s bottom lip, scraping his teeth against it possessively.  
  
Kurt gasped, the hard lines of Blaine’s body pressing him against the wall, but a moment later, pleasure turned to a sharp, stinging pain and his mouth was flooded with the taste of warm, coppery liquid as Blaine pulled back sharply, his body falling as far away as it could without having to let go of Kurt.  
  
Kurt tried to control his breathing, to gain back his anger and hate but all he could feel was heat and the smallest thread of fear when he looked at Blaine and saw his terrified gaze trained on the cut he’d torn into Kurt’s bottom lip.  
  
“Blaine?” he said, startled at the way that the name fell from his lips, at the stark realization that it was years since he’d actually addressed the creature as such.  
  
Blaine didn’t look up, his gaze frozen as though he were hypnotized, shocked that he felt no pain from drinking Kurt’s blood. He let out a noise as Kurt’s tongue darted out instinctively. Kurt tried to twist away as Blaine’s hand rose toward his face again, but his fingers pressed hard into Kurt’s cheek, his middle and pointer fingers making a slow, tantalizing swipe across the blood lingering on Kurt’s lips.  
  
He held up the blood-coated fingers in front of his face, his breath stuttering as he looked at him. The hand not holding Kurt was shaking as Blaine stared at it, the blood that he’d never allowed himself, his eyes wide and fearful. Before Kurt could say anything, Blaine’s hand was raised to his lips, his tongue darting out tentatively at the red liquid before he closed his eyes, his expression anguished and defeated before he put both the fingers in his mouth, tongue swirling around them in pleasure as he licked the red liquid from it.  
  
“Blaine, please,” Kurt murmured, both aroused and terrified at the image in front of him, not even know what he was pleading for. Blaine’s eyes snapped open at the sound of his own name, his eyes so dark that Kurt couldn’t make out the color of his irises.  
  
Without any further warning Blaine was back against him, his mouth ravaging Kurt’s. Kurt groaned in shock against it, the vibrations echoing from him through Blaine’s body. His hands were released as both of Blaine’s came up to frame his face, Blaine’s grip hard as he held Kurt in place, half kissing him, half sucking the blood from the wound that he’d accidentally made.  
  
Kurt moaned, his eyes screwed shut at the pressure of Blaine’s body, at the almost painful pull of blood leaving his system. He should have tried to push Blaine away but all he could think to do with his hands was to grip Blaine’s biceps through his shirt as he kissed back, as he sought the feeling that he had been repressing for months, for almost years. The one that Blaine had attempted to erase from his memory ten years ago. The one that wasn’t supposed to linger in every crevice of his body.  
  
He gasped, the need to pull away for air strong and his head flew back. Blaine growled hungrily, his lips leaving small stains of red along Kurt’s jaw as he returned to that place against Kurt’s neck, his breath hot and his teeth sharp. He dragged his tongue against Kurt’s pulse point, sucking the skin hard, but when the first penetration of skin occurred he broke away with a gasp, pushing away from the wall to stumble back several steps.  
  
He looked at Kurt as though he had been betrayed, the animalistic lust in his eyes fading into something so fearful that Kurt was dumbfounded, so shocked that he couldn’t muster the strength to find his way back to his hatred.  
  
A small droplet of blood fell from the sharp points of Blaine’s teeth, falling onto his lip and snaking its way down the side of his mouth.  
  
“You fucking fool,” Blaine growled angrily and with two steps he was back in front of Kurt, his hand reaching for the collar of his shirt and jerking off the chain hiding under it. He grunted in pain as the metal burned him and he tossed it aside in his frustration. “You could have done it you know. You could have fucking gotten me but you stopped drinking vervain. You idiot.” For the first time that night fury truly burned Blaine’s eyes and Kurt couldn’t even find it in himself to be afraid as the numbing feeling of understanding infiltrated his very core. “I should slaughter you right now,” Blaine snarled softly, closing the distance between them. “But I won’t. Not until you beg me for it. Because I’m tired, Kurt. I’m so fucking tired of being selfless. All my life, but no more.” Kurt didn’t move, his heart pounding so hard he was sure the sound of it filled the room. “I told you once before, I can’t give you what you want from me. But I will kill you, Kurt. When you want what I want.”  
  
They were almost nose to nose and Kurt could the pupils of his eyes flexing as he compelled Kurt to understand. “You want to bring me back,” he whispered back, his voice hushed with a thrilling horror.  
  
Blaine’s jaw clenched and something sad passed through his gaze. “When it’s my turn to be selfish. Until then, I’m sorry.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
The only answer he received was the lightning-fast movement of Blaine’s hands as they thrust Kurt’s head back against the bricks of the fireplace with a resounding crack and all the light vanished from the world.

~

  
 _”Kurt, stop!”  
  
“Let go of me!”  
  
“Kurt, let me explain!”  
  
Kurt started as Blaine appeared before him, the blood around his mouth wiped into the dark blue of his blazer. “Don’t bother! You . . . I can’t believe you . . . he was right about you, you killed her!”  
  
He missed the flash of confusion in Blaine’s eyes, his vision clouded in his fury. “Her?”  
  
“You killed her. You tore her out of my life and I swear to God I will never forgive you for it,” Kurt growled, not even finding it in himself to be afraid anymore, to remember the crumbled body of the boy lying several feet behind him.  
  
Blaine stilled looked puzzled, confusion mixing with an unnatural devastation in his expression before his eyes widened and he looked at Kurt as though seeing him for the first time. “Kurt, I . . . Oh . . .” he breathed. “Elizabeth.”  
  
“I’m surprised you stopped long enough to learn her name,” Kurt snarled angrily. “Did you stop for a little chat before murdering her like an animal?”  
  
“Kurt—”  
  
“I’m going to _ _kill_ _you,” Kurt continued, his voice strong with determination that seemed to stab through Blaine like a stake. “If it’s the last thing I do, I swear to God—”  
  
His voice cut off with a grunt as his back hit the Navigator. At the force of impact he stuttered, as though all the feelings he’d had for the boy—no, creature—in front of him came flooding back.  
  
He could see the moment Blaine saw them, the way his eyes widened and in a flash he was in front of Kurt, fingers flicking the buttons of Kurt’s shirt open to grab the chain he had gifted Kurt with and drop it on the ground.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his pupils constricting, something in them wiping all thoughts from Kurt’s mind. “I tried to protect you from this. I’m sorry. I wish I could let you remember me the way I was. I wish . . . I could let you keep loving me. I’m so sorry, Kurt.”  
  
Kurt opened his mouth to say something, some words at the back of his mind, but he blinked and when he opened his eyes Blaine was gone._

~

  
Blaine could sense the moment Kurt regained consciousness inside the house. He could feel him over the movements of men within the living room, could hear him untangling himself from the blankets that had been laid over him and making his way downstairs. Could sense his emotions, the ones that struck Blaine painfully in the heart. The ones that Blaine had tried to rid them both of, but that had instead become embedded in their very souls, untouchable and unbreakable.  
  
Through the roof he could hear the voice of that damned headmaster and the council, crawling like ants searching for him. Could hear Kurt’s weary footsteps down the staircase and the minute they spotted him, running to him with instincts torn between attacking him for information and making sure he was okay. He could heard it when Kurt’s weak voice told them they were wasting their time. That Blaine was no longer there.  
  
He wondered if he was meant to be rejoicing that they could anticipate each other’s actions so well still.  
  
He heard the sound of the front door opening and the skid of Kurt’s boots on the loose stones of the driveway as he came to a quick halt, eyes widening at the Impala parked in front of the house. The one that he hadn’t left there but that he was too tired not to simply collapse into, his body wrecked with emotion. Blaine watched him from his position on the roof of his own house, his gaze sad and his heard clenching painfully in his chest.  
  
He could almost sense what Kurt was thinking as he sat silently in the dark car. He could hear the clink of the little bottles of vervain that were hidden in the glove compartment of the Impala as they were pulled out and examined before being thrust angrily back, unopened. The rustle of the note that had been left pinned to the dashboard, the white of its paper stained by the sleek cursive of black ink.  
  
 _Every time you come you ask me the same question, but you search for fiction in a world ruled by reality. You ask me why I did it, but I’ve already told you. So the fault is yours for searching for something vicious in me when it was her. When I did it because she_ asked _me to. Because she wanted me to_ save _her._  
  
It was when the strength of his hearing caught the soft strands of Kurt’s tears carving rivulets into his cheeks, his breaths coming out in short, desperate sobs, his entire being weary with the fight that was continually raging between his heart and the remainder of his instincts, that Blaine shut himself off and took a step back into the shadows of the roof, turning his back and escaping into the darkness with a heavy heart.


End file.
